One of the reasons why the historical debate about the relationship between science and
Christianity has been so unproductive is the great temporal displacement of their origins. Science, as we
understand it today, originated in the seventeenth century, long after Christianity had been fully articulated in
the various creeds read every Sunday morning in our worship services around the world. What we
understand today as the scientific perspective on nature was thus missing in the worldviews of the biblical
writers and the church Fathers as they wrote the documents that the Christian Church has defined as
definitive, documents that, while obviously uninterested in science qua science, nevertheless are not silent
on the relationship between the Creator and the Creation.
This situation has created a potentially serious problem for contemporary Christians who would like to
integrate their scientific knowledge with their Christian Faith. In "Covenantal Science," David Wilcox
recounts a sad story about a college student who was driven to tears by the apparently unbridgeable gulf
that seemed to exist between the science she was learning and the faith with which she had grown up. This
is the story of many modern Christians as they attempt to reconcile the apparently conflicting claims of a
radically theistic Christianity and a thoroughly naturalistic science.
In "Covenantal Science: Impossible or Required?" David Wilcox attempts to provide a biblical/ Christian
perspective on science—a Judeo- Christian philosophy of science derived from an extrapolation of the
biblical concept of the Covenant. The argument that Wilcox makes is one that I find tantalizing—I wish that it
were true but I can’t quite buy it. This paper is an attempt to respond to what I see as the difficult parts of
Wilcox’s argument.
There are three essential points where Wilcox’s argument is quite vulnerable to criticism: (1) The modern
scientific perspective on nature states unambiguously that there are hidden universal laws that describe the
various processes behind the observed phenomenon of nature. Is it reasonable to exegete this view from
the Scriptures? Does the Bible really teach, or even imply, that the faithfulness of God is the reason why
light always goes at the same speed, or why all electrons have the same charge? Can the concept of the
Covenant be legitimately enlarged to encompass such mundane features of the natural world?
(2) If we do allow that a perspective encompassing the modern concept of a "law of nature" can be exegeted
from the Scriptures, will the precise articulation of this perspective be dependent on one’s particular
theological tradition? Should we expect a Calvinist to derive the same conclusion as an Arminian? How will
different theological persuasions understand the concept of "chance"—a concept that has become
absolutely essential to much of modern science?
(3) If we are successful in deriving a theologically viable philosophy of science based on the concept of
covenant, how then shall we construct our research program? What avenues of investigation will be
suggested by our assumptions? Wilcox suggests that we view the actions of particles in our world as the
direct response to the immediate will of God. If this is true then the action of every particle is truly contingent
on the immediate will of God and it should follow that something divine ought to be discernible in the ships,
shoes, and sealing wax of every day experience and even laboratory data. There ought to be a purposeful
intelligent design discernible in nature, a design that Wilcox suggests can indeed be found in global
coherence, probability structures, and self- referenced systems. But exactly how does one identify intelligent
design in nature without stumbling into the God of the Gaps pit, like the ill-fated nineteenth- century natural
theologians? And, of course, what does one do about the many apparent cases of bad design in nature?
In this paper I will address each of these points individually. I will argue (1) that a Covenantal science as
described by Wilcox cannot be exegeted from the Scriptures; (2) that one’s theological tradition—and not the
Scriptures—is most likely to play the determining role in how one understands the relationship between God
and the World; and (3) that intelligent design is a very slippery quarry and one that, upon discovery, always
seems able to wriggle away. At the conclusion of this paper I will discuss an alternative to Wilcox’s position
that appeals to me. The important distinctions between our proposals are probably determined by our
respective theological traditions which, although divergent, would certainly pose no barrier to our working
alongside one another in a scientific laboratory.
Objections to "Covenantal Science"
(a) Wilcox argues that a biblical philosophy of science can be derived from the concept of the Covenant: " . .
. nature is God’s obedient creature, acting in obedience to his commands, directed according to his
purposes." This description of God’s role in nature goes far beyond the traditional—and essentially
metaphysical— affirmation that "whatever exists is ultimately grounded in God." Under the traditional
affirmation it is entirely possible to suppose that God sustains the existence of electrons without requiring
that he necessarily control their individual actions.
Wilcox bases his Covenantal Science on the various biblical references to the Covenant that Yahweh
established with his people and which is alluded to throughout the Scriptures in places such as Psalm 104.
The moon marks off the seasons, and the sun knows when to go down.
You bring darkness, it becomes night, and all the beasts of the forest prowl.
The lions roar for their prey and seek their food from God.
The sun rises, and they steal away; they return and lie down in their dens.
Then man goes out to his work, to his labor until evening.
It is clear in these verses that the Psalmist has some concept of the regularity of nature—a regularity that he
ascribes to the faithfulness of God. But it is also true that the concept of a natural law—the critical element in
modern science—is completely missing in the Psalmist’s philosophy of nature. The Psalmist (and the other
biblical writers) makes absolutely no distinction between God causing the sun to go down on time, God
causing the lion to roar, or God causing Pharaoh’s heart to harden. It is very clear that the biblical writers
implicitly and explicitly assumed that everything that happened was due to the direct action of God. There is
absolutely no distinction between the occurrence of an event and God’s causing of that event. So if God is
causing events which we view as random—the roar of the lion—in the same way that He is causing events
that we understand as regular—the cycle of the seasons—how can we conclude that his faithfulness—the
covenant—will lead to an absolute law-abiding regularity for some things but not for others?
Is it, therefore, possible to uncover any scientifically relevant insights within the unapologetic theism of the
biblical writers? It seems to me, unfortunately, that it is not. There exists a great gap between the
faithfulness of God to keep harvest always on the heels of seed time—a very basic regularity long
recognized by all peoples regardless of their religious orientation—and the faithfulness of God to keep light
always moving at 186,000 miles per second—an astonishing regularity that was not recognized until some
years after Einstein presented his shocking Special Theory of Relativity in 1905. To state that the regularity
science has uncovered within nature was anticipated by the biblical writers as they wrote of the faithfulness
of God to keep night following day is to stretch the bounds of exegetical legitimacy beyond reason.
Furthermore, the action of God in nature is described in many places in so fully anthropomorphic language
that one could legitimately suggest that the biblical view of nature was likely to be one in which events
occurred with no more regularity than one would expect of the actions of a free being. Psalm 147:8, for
example, states
He covers the sky with clouds;
he supplies the earth with rain and makes grass on the hills.
He provides food for the cattle and for the young ravens when they call.
. . . He spreads the snow like wool and scatters the frost like ashes.
He hurls down his hail like pebbles.
When the Psalmist writes that God "hurls down his hail like pebbles," does he really mean that God "always
makes sure that when hail falls, it follows Newton’s Laws just like pebbles"? If one had no information other
than the biblical record, I don’t think that one would be inclined to go looking in nature for the hidden order of
science. After all, it took Christendom seventeen long centuries before it occurred to the founders of modern
science—Galileo, Descartes, Kepler, Newton, and company—to hunt for the hidden order. And while it is
true that they all had strong theological commitments that seem to have helped motivate their efforts, these
commitments found at least some of their origin in Plato. It remains a challenge to find a single reference in
the entire Scriptures that suggests that "particles in nature always behave in exactly the same way because
they are following the will of a God who has covenanted with humanity that their behavior will be regular."
So how does one interpret the miracle by which God kept Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego from being
burned in the fiery furnace? Is the process of combustion one in which various flammable gases dance
under the direction of a divine choreography—a choreography that can easily be rescored so that the faithful
are not burned? Or does such a miracle require an intrusion by God into a more or less autonomous natural
order? This point is at the heart of Wilcox’s thesis and bears careful consideration.
There are two important points, however, that must precede any attempt to answer the question:
(a) Theologically, these two positions—(l) miracles as intrusions into nature versus (2) miracles as alternate
behaviors of nature—are identical. If theology is the attempt to understand God and his purposes/actions in
the world then it makes no difference whether we try to understand why God intruded into the natural order
or why God chose this particular time to change the marching orders normally assigned to the creation.
(b) Scientifically, these two positions are identical. There is no scientifically meaningful (empirical) distinction
between "miracle as intrusion into the natural order" and "miracle as temporary suspension of normal
operating conditions."
So, it seems to me that Wilcox’s Covenantal Science suffers from two very serious problems: (1) it is not the
obvious assertion of Scripture and (2) its description of miracles may not be a meaningful assertion at all.
(b) If we allow that Covenantal Science is indeed a meaningful concept and one that is consistent with, if not
legitimately derived from, Scripture—we must acknowledge, as Wilcox points out, that our scientific founding
fathers would agree with his position—how will we deal with the thorny problems that this raises for the
various theological traditions? If we state that every elementary particle in the universe is doing whatever it
is doing because God is directing it to do so, then we make God the immediate (and not merely the primary
or first) cause of all that is happening. This raises two important, although familiar, questions: (1) Is God then
the Author of Evil? There are many theologians, I suspect, who would prefer a God committed more to
providence than order. In this particular case one’s fundamental assumption about the basic nature of God
will exert a strong influence on the theology that is developed. Theologians who choose to emphasize the
providential nature of God would prefer a God that, wherever possible, intervenes in the regular affairs of
nature to minimize the suffering of his creation; on the other hand, if God’s fundamental attribute is order
rather than providence, then God must not be constantly intruding into the natural order. Order and
providence thus represent a theological tension similar to that responsible for the historic divergence
between the Arminian and Calvinist traditions. (2) Why in the world does so much of God’s activity seem to
be absolutely without purpose? This may be a presumptuous speculation, but if I were God I would be only
too content to let the Great Red Spot on Jupiter dissipate. It seems that we make a mockery of the will of
God if we are forced to include within it the esoteric machinations of all the dancers on the cosmic stage.
Indeed it would seem that the essential part of the covenant is that it is a covenant with humanity—not with
electrons. If humanity is the essential theological partner in the covenant, why do God’s actions under the
covenant include so many details that are utterly irrelevant to humanity?
Personally, I find it much more attractive to believe that the world has some degree of autonomy—just as I
do—which then lets God off the hook for those natural disasters that seem so insensitive to human suffering;
and I would also prefer not to have to come up with some theological rationale for the unobserved—and
apparently purposeless—behavior of almost everything in the universe.
(c) Notwithstanding the problems already mentioned we come now to the most scientifically interesting part
of Wilcox’ argument—the possibility of finding "intelligent design" in nature. (This part of the argument
stands on its own, independently of the resolution of the previous problems.) Is it possible to discover
intelligent design in nature? This is a fascinating problem with an interesting history. When Kepler first
discovered that planets move in perfect ellipses he felt that he had uncovered the formerly inexplicable
handiwork of God. But then Newton came along and showed that all orbiting bodies under the influence of
gravity would execute elliptical motion. In the eyes of the Newtonians, God went from the immediate cause
of the motion generating the ellipse to the less proximate source of the gravitational force. The design of the
ellipse was the result of the nature of gravity. While it is still the case that the whole show can be ascribed to
God, the point is that (to paraphrase Newton), while God may be the immediate source of the gravity, he is
not necessarily the immediate source for the ellipse. Indeed it was the steady recession of the proximity of
God as causal agent that led to the metaphor of the clockwork universe that Wilcox criticizes.
So what is the meaning of intelligent design in nature? Let me suggest that it is the apparently unrelated coordination of independent phenomena to produce a desired end—essentially a teleology. Consider an
example: your shoe is shaped to fit your foot. Now there is no necessary connection between your shoe and
your foot. The shoe did not grow around the outside of your foot, like your skin; and your foot did not grow
inside the shoe until it filled the space. It is obvious, nevertheless, that your foot and the shoe on it were
designed to complement each other. This is intelligent design (shoe commercials notwithstanding). It would
be hard to come up with an explanation that did not invoke some intelligence—some purposeful,
teleologically inclined cobbler. But we must be very careful here; nature in its own subtle way can often
mimic intelligence by producing design, the explanation of which is not immediately obvious. Consider
another example: the Rocky Mountains are covered with many streams that carry water from the summit to
the foot. In each case there is a trench dug in the mountainside that has almost exactly the right location and
the right size to carry away the water in that particular location. The system appears to be very well
designed: if there is a lot of water to be removed the trench is deep and wide; if there is very little water, the
trench is shallow and narrow. Where there is no water there is no trench. To an observer with no knowledge
of erosion, this vast system of waterways would seem like a remarkably well—and intelligently—designed
system. But as soon as we point out that it is the water that has eroded the trenches we immediately
understand that there is no intelligent design at all because the trenches and the water are not independent
of one another. The appearance of design in this case and indeed in most cases—is really just the
admission of ignorance of the natural relationship between two (or more) phenomena that appear to be
independently cooperating to produce a desired end.
The devastating blow that Darwin dealt to natural theology was to provide a possible mechanism (natural
selection) to explain the tremendous apparently intelligent design in nature. While the natural theologians
were marveling at the structure of the eye, the camel’s hump, and the defenses of the skunk, and
developing intelligent design arguments for the existence of God, Darwin was showing how mother nature
could design these structures all by herself, with no help from God.
What is not always made explicit in most design arguments is that they include an admission of ignorance.
To paraphrase William Paley’s famous argument inspired by the design of the eye: "We find the eye to be
remarkably well-designed, and cannot conceive of any natural mechanism by which this might have
occurred, so we conclude that God must have designed it." Analogously, our streambed argument would
read: "We find the drainage system of the Rocky Mountains to be so remarkably well-designed, and cannot
conceive of any natural mechanism by which this might have occurred, so we conclude that God must have
designed it." In both cases the argument disappears once the unknown natural source for the apparent
design is discovered.
If we look at Wilcox’s three examples—(l) global coherence, (2) probability structures, and (3) selfreferenced systems—we can see that they all represent arguments from ignorance: (1) "We find the human
mind remarkably well designed to understand nature, and cannot conceive of any natural mechanism by
which this might have occurred, so we conclude that God must have designed it"; (2) "We find nature
remarkably efficient in locating viable locations in genetic phase space, and cannot conceive of any natural
mechanism by which this occurs, so we conclude that God must be guiding it"; (3) "We find the ‘self- referent
pattern of organization’ in living things remarkably well designed, and cannot conceive of any natural
mechanism by which this might have occurred, so we conclude that God must have designed it."
While Wilcox has certainly identified some very interesting problems on which science is currently working, it
is dangerous to conclude that the undiscovered explanation for all of them is intelligent design. There is an
important historical lesson here. As I have pointed out elsewhere:
In the early history of science it was common, almost universal, to attribute to God those parts of the
explanation that could not be provided by science. At various times in history God was moving planets,
altering animal forms, blotting out the sun at midday, and so on. Even in the "scientifically sophisticated"
nineteenth century God was designing the eye, originating life, defining absolute space, etc. This mode of
explanation now has the pejorative label "God of the Gaps" and is viewed with disfavor.
All three of the examples mentioned above involve phenomena so complicated that it can be stated with
confidence that there are significant scientific breakthroughs yet to be accomplished. Do we really know
enough about the mind to rule out any possible connection between its operation and that of the universe?
Indeed, do we really know anything about the mind at all? A more convincing case for intelligent design can
be made for the Anthropic Principle, since it involves much simpler phenomena that are far better
understood, but even that has its problems.
Now it seems to me that any reasonable Christian orthodoxy probably requires an affirmation that God
designed, or at least participated in the design, of human beings (among other things). I don’t see how a
Christian can affirm that human beings are just the products of blind chance. On the other hand, I can’t see
that it matters whether or not God designed and produced the Great Red Spot on Jupiter. It is very
problematical—and all but paralyzing to science—to try to identify the particular structures in nature that are
the product of intelligent design. A productive philosophy of science must never suggest that the search for a
natural origin of some complex phenomenon be abandoned in favor of "intelligent design."
Conclusion
The concept of a Covenantal Science is beset with problems that make it unacceptable to me. In my own
conception—limited, to be sure, by my presuppositions, theological and otherwise—I am much more
comfortable with a created natural world that has some degree of autonomy, just as I, as a human being,
created in the image of God, have a degree of autonomy. The universe in some mysterious way is genuinely
free—unconstrained—to create and destroy, just as I am free to create and destroy, the only difference
being that I have the potential for deliberately purposeful behavior. Under this assumption I do not
(necessarily) have to ask God why a volcano covered some poor village with lava, why a climate pattern
altered and produced a famine, why Hurricane Andrew destroyed my colleague’s hometown, or why the
Great Red Spot sits benignly in the atmosphere of Jupiter.
I suspect that if I had spent my career in a different theological tradition "Covenantal Science" might look
different to me. But that is precisely my point: science cannot make use of, nor afford to align itself with,
particular theological formulations. Science has a demonstrated ability to produce agreement and unanimity
within its ranks. Its methods are sufficiently abstract—with few exceptions—to transcend language, culture,
and ideology. Alas, the same cannot be said for theology or biblical studies, where one’s presuppositions—
rather than methodology—seem all too often to determine one’s conclusions.
Athens and the National Academy of Sciences: Is There No Philosophy of Science?
By David Wilcox
In responding to Giberson, David Wilcox argues that there is no such thing as a "neutral," non-philosophical
approach to science. Scientific activity always presupposes a metaphysic, and the current belief in the
autonomy of nature is the product of the Naturalism which became dominant in the nineteenth century. For
Christians, "a unanimity due to an enforced acceptance of a metaphysics of materialistic autonomy is not a
thing to be grasped." Mr. Wilcox teaches biology at Eastern College.
In his reply to my paper, Giberson seems disturbed both by the need to consider
theological/philosophical issues in doing science, and by several specific aspects of my proposed solution. I
shall first consider his general concern that "most scientists. . . in general need not consider philosophical
problems as they go about the business of science," which is the discovery of the "hidden universal laws" of
nature. In short, I agree, most scientists do just that—they do not do philosophy, for they assume the truth of
the "modern scientific perspective." But, such a pragmatic approach does not dispense with metaphysics, for
it simply assumes the validity of the usual metaphysical position without reflection. No one can think, let
alone form explanations (theories) for patterns of data, without some view of the nature of material reality. A
brief historical sketch will clarify this, and also speak to Giberson’s concern that science is so much more
recent than Christianity.
The common metaphysical view of science—that the autonomy of nature (materialism) assures the
uniformity of cause and effect (natural law)—was a product of the materialistic pre-Socratic Greek
philosophers such as Thales, Leucippus and Democritus.1 However, it was unclear to many why such
autonomy would account for order. Plato responded by reintroducing "divinity." "The function of divinity for
Plato was to undergird and account for the order and rationality of the cosmos. Plato restored the gods to
account for precisely those features of the cosmos which, in the view of the physikoi, required the banishing
of the gods."2 At a later date, the materialistic concept was again popularized in the philosophies of the
Epicureans and Stoics whom Paul debated on Mars Hill.3 The following lessons should be drawn: (1)
science requires order, but order does not require autonomy; (2) Christianity was introduced—not millennia
before the so-called "scientific" view of nature became popular—but centuries after its origin; and (3) the
materialism of the physikoi was a religious perspective.
To move forward to the origins of modern science, although both views continued to be held and debated
throughout the medieval period, the most common view at the time when modern science began (with
Newton, Boyle, etc.) was the idea that the source of order was continuous divine governance, and thus from
outside the natural system. This is very different from the position in science today. As Moore has
documented,4 the academic dominance of materialism dates from a religious movement of the 1840s (200
years post Newton), the proponents of which termed it "Naturalism." This movement included not only
scientists like Huxley, but a wide assortment of other young English professionals (for instance, George
Elliot and Lord Tennyson). The goal of the movement was to replace the Established Church in both
university and society. They succeeded so well in the university5 that academicians, including scientists, no
longer worry about the question of the source of order, but assume the issue settled. Indeed it is, but the
settlement was by conquest, not by logic or necessary proof. Thus, Giberson’s statement that "science
cannot make use of, nor afford to align itself with, particular theological formulations" is not historically
correct. Science did just that in the nineteenth century, and today’s peace is the peace of surrender. Athens
rules instead of Jerusalem.
But, does Jerusalem have anything to say? Can one derive an answer to the question of order from the
Scripture, given the primitive knowledge and anthropomorphic language of its writers? It should be obvious
that the specific knowledge of modern science is not going to be there—but the idea that God is the
immediate source of order certainly is not hard to find. The ideas of particulate matter or the speed of light
are absent—but the Psalmist would certainly have said that they were examples of what he was talking
about in Psalm 104. His point was that both the lion and the daytime are part of God’s ordered and governed
creation.
In the oldest book of the Bible, God speaks to Job of Himself as the "hidden source of order":
"Where were you when I laid the earth’s foundation? Tell me, if you understand. Who marked off its
dimensions? Surely you know! Who stretched a measuring line across it? On what were its footings set, or
who laid its cornerstone—while the morning stars sang together and all the angels shouted for joy? Who
shut up the sea behind doors. . when I fixed limits for it and set its doors and bars in place, when I said, ‘This
far you may come and no farther; here is where your proud waves halt.’ Have you ever given orders to the
morning, or shown the dawn its place ... Have entered the storehouses of the snow. . which I reserve for
times of trouble ... Can you bring forth the constellations in their seasons ... Do you know the laws of the
heavens? Can you set up God’s dominion over the earth?" (Job 38)
Of course, that is very old writing. However, the well-educated debater of Mars Hill said the same thing to
the local "Scientific Materialists." "He himself (God) gives all men life and breath and everything else" (Acts
17:25) "Sustaining all things by his powerful word" (Heb. 1:3). "He is before all things, and in him all things
hold together" (Col. 1:17). And also, Jesus himself said "Not one of them (sparrows) will fall to the ground
apart from the will of your Father" (Matt. 10:29). Thus, Jesus Christ seemed to think that even "random"
events are ordered by the hidden will of God.
Part of the difficulty is the concept of divine freedom. Freedom for God does not mean a childish
spontaneity, but the disciplined freedom of a righteous King. A King’s freedom leads to the establishment of
law. Paul would not have been surprised that the speed of light is constant. Thus, I hold that a Covenantal
position can be exegeted from the Scriptures.
Of course, this is a theological tradition, and there are other traditions. Such traditions may very well differ in
how they understand "chance," for instance. But, the "modern/ancient" idea that chance means the absence
of a directing hand is also derived from a theological tradition, the still dominant tradition of the Naturalism
movement of the 1840s. It is impossible to have no theological position. So, let us consider the implications
of the differences between my theological position and Karl Giberson’s.
First, he raises the question of miracle—is it intrusion, or is it alternative behavior? Giberson says these
positions are identical both theologically and scientifically. But they are not identical theologically, for
intrusion is a doctrine of ordinary divine absence, and alternative behavior a doctrine of continuous divine
presence. Thus, only the first view will allow the "Blind Watchmaker" sort of attack on Christianity. On the
other hand, I would agree that they may be identical scientifically—and thus be equally able to support
science. If so, a working materialism is not necessary for doing science.
Second, he raises the question of natural evil. Of course this is a theological problem, but it is hardly new.
Nor can I answer it, except to point out how Job was answered (Job 38-40) and how Paul answered the
question (Rom. 9:14-22). The answer was that this was a divine mystery which we were not to try to explain.
But I do have a comment. I too agonize over the grief I see around me. But if God is able to do intrusive
miracles of "providence," and does not always do them, He deliberately allows evil. On the other hand, if
God is not able to do such miracles, we are both powerless victims of the almighty cosmos. If He governs all
events, I may not understand why or what He is doing, but in the midst of trouble He is still there and I am
not alone. I would rather say "Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him."
In the "Covenantal" view, God orders all things according to His will through His providential governing. That
is, the order which He maintains is/was designed in eternity to bring about the goal which He intends.
"Having been predestined according to the plan of Him who works out everything in conformity with the
purpose of His will" (Eph. 1:11). But science is not an effort to explain why God produces Jupiter’s Great
Red Spot—just to explain how He does it. It belongs in the list of natural wonders of Job 38-40—it is to the
praise of His glory. Billions of stars are only seen and appreciated by the angels and God—but they are
conscious observers.
Third, Giberson raises the issue of intelligent design. However, he seems to have misread my intent. The
traditional enterprise of Natural Theology does indeed look for evidences of design in nature as
pointers/proofs of God’s existence. And Giberson is quite right in saying these arguments are vulnerable and
problematic. I am, in fact, trying to negate arguments such as these concerning purpose drawn from
observation of nature.
However, there is a difference. Although I am not trying to prove design, I do assume it. My target is the
Natural A theology of the Blind Watchmaker6—the use of natural events as proofs of existence of the
material God of Naturalism. I am not arguing that we can conclusively prove the existence of the Biblical
Creator, but rather that we can not conclusively prove the adequacy of an undirected material universe as
the source of order. All three examples I brought up represent places where the complexity of the
phenomena is so great that a theory of undirected material adequacy is simply a faith commitment. And the
object of that faith is the autonomous material cosmos of the physikoi and of the Naturalism movement of
nineteenth century England. It is also the faith commitment of R. Dawkins, M. Ruse, E. O. Wilson, S. J.
Gould, G. G. Simpson, C. Sagan and other modern writers of materialistic apologetics.
The belief in a governing God is not a God of the gaps stance. The God of the gaps is a fellow who makes
up for the inadequacy of the material cosmos as creator by supplemental intrusive miracle. Natural origins
are the opposite of intelligent design only if one assumes the duality of the God of the gaps and the blind
material god of the cosmos. The governing God, the Creator, does not leave an undesigned backdrop
against which to deduce design. He designs the backdrop as well. He designs the eye, regardless of how
much material cause is involved in its realization, for He designed and directed the material causes which
brought it about. He did not have to intrude at some point, for His purpose of making eyes was there to help
shape the initial fireball of the Big Bang. He can alter the behavior of nature at some point if He wishes to,
but that singularity is not an intrusive act. It is detectable, however.
In conclusion, I think that Karl Giberson is right. Our theological traditions have made a considerable
difference in whether "Covenantal Science" is acceptable to us. But, one must stand somewhere. Science
must be done in light of some particular theological formulation, for science is done by human beings. The
unanimity of science is in part due to the study of a common world, but when scientists view their common
world through different paradigms, the unanimity is broken and a scientific revolution may be in the works. It
seems to me that unanimity due to an enforced acceptance of a metaphysics of materialistic autonomy is
not a thing to be grasped.
1 When we say that science is naturalistic, we are not necessarily implying that it is atheistic. The naturalism
of science is best (although not exhaustively) understood as a fundamental statement of its presuppositions
rather than its conclusions. The naturalism that permeates the conclusions of modern science was instilled a
priori. This, of course, imposes a boundary on the range of phenomena within the purview of scientific
explanation. Alternately, the naturalism of science may be viewed as methodological rather than
metaphysical—an inherent property of a limited scientific method, rather than a general conclusion drawn
from the evidence. (See, for example, Paul de Vries, "Naturalism in the Natural Sciences: A Christian
Perspective" CSR Volume XV Number 4, p. 388.)
2 The position articulated by Wilcox is fairly common among evangelical scientists. (See Howard Van Till,
The Fourth Day (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1986), and Del Ratzsch, Philosophy of Science, (Downer’s
Grove: Intervarsity Press, 1986). It is important to note, however, that most scientists have little interest in
the various philosophies that purport to describe their enterprise, and in general need not consider
philosophical problems as they go about the business of science.
3 While reading Wilcox’s paper I was intrigued by the thought of how the famous Bohr-Einstein debate over
the role of chance in quantum physics would resonate with the implications of a Covenantal Science. It
would be hard to imagine Neils Bohr vigorously defending the central role of chance and statistics in
quantum mechanics if he truly believed that all quantum particles were carrying out the local will of God.
4 If instances of intelligent design can be used to argue for the presence of God in nature, what shall we do
with instances of bad design? It seems apparent that natural history has produced a variety of Rube
Goldbergian structures that surely do not bear the signature of God. The panda’s thumb, the cow’s stomach,
and even the meaningless but painful poison ivy reaction that plagues me after an accidental encounter with
a benign plant, all testify to a degree of incompetence on the part of their designer. Are we to assign God the
responsibility for the many crude engineering projects that populate the natural world?
5 The modern concept of a law of nature would certainly be utterly foreign to the biblical writers. Whether or
not it is possible for their writings to contain intimations of ideas not explicable within the context of their
worldview depends on one’s view of inspiration. (Is it the writers or the writings that are inspired?) Here
again we find one’s theological assumptions determining the content of Scripture.
6 I am using "miracle" here in the limited way that it is used in popular language—an extraordinary event
that cannot be explained (or explained away!) by science. Although this is not, perhaps, the appropriate
defining characteristic of a miracle, it is the feature of interest to science (and the feature on which Wilcox
has chosen to focus).
7 Alas, it will probably remain an eternal unanswered mystery why billions of stars in the universe will be
born, shine for a while, and then die without ever having been so much as acknowledged by a conscious
observer. Science seems abysmally incompetent to uncover the purpose of the phenomena it chooses to
investigate.
8 Karl Giberson: "The Anthropic Principle: Handiwork of God or Scientific Mystery?" Christian Scholar’s
Review XXII:2 December 1992), pp. 187-94.
9 See Patrick Wilson "Explaining a Finely Tuned Universe," Christian Scholar’s Review XXI:4 (June 1992),
pp. 408-15.
10 It has been one of the curious accomplishments of modem science to demonstrate that human
consciousness is a far more complex phenomenon than the large scale behaviour of the entire universe.
The Psalmist ought not to have felt that the grandeur of the heavens diminished him in any way—quite the
contrary.
11 See my earlier reference above.
12 It is a troubling feature of many of the modern doctrines of creation that they do not seem to preclude the
possibility that human beings are the product of blind chance. In the attempt to defend their theological
doctrines against scientific attack (or misuse by the scientific creationists), many theologians have
articulated doctrines of creation that seem compatible with any scientific account of origins. John Lawson,
for example, in Introduction to Christian Doctrine (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1986), p. 24, states, "By
creation is meant the principle that the universe exists solely because the sovereign God wills that it should
exist, and that His will is the sufficient ground for its existence." As I read this statement, which is fairly
typical of current theology texts, it would appear that God is responsible for little more than the continued
existence of the universe. Whether or not that universe produces conscious beings capable of relating to
God seems outside the scope of the doctrine.
13 It has frequently happened in science that two distinct, separate research efforts, working independently
and unaware of each other, have converged on the same scientific truth. It makes no difference whether the
researcher is Asian or American, speaks Japanese or German, worships in a synagogue or shuns religion
altogether. The fact that the methods of science work equally well in these disparate contexts speaks clearly
to the objectivity of its methodology. It is eminently clear that development within science is progress as
ideas are developed, explored, and discarded or adopted. This is in striking contrast to the history of
religious thought, the methodology of which seems unable to bring consensus. The great divergences in
church history, such as the Catholic/ Protestant or Calvinist/Arminian tensions, seem eternally irreconcilable.
If these were scientific, rather than theological, disagreements, the mechanics of resolution would be straight
forward— complicated perhaps, but straightforward.
14 D. C. Lindberg, The Beginnings of Western Science, Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1992; p.
44.
15 Lindberg, p. 43.
16 Lindberg, p. 80.
17 J. R. Moore, "1859 and all that: Remaking the Story of Evolution-and-Religion," Charles Darwin, 18091882: Centennial Commemorative, Wellington, NZ: Nova Pacifica, 1982, pp. 167-194.
18 G. M. Marsden, "The Soul of the American University," Faculty Dialogue 15, Fall 1991; pp. 83-118.
19 R. Dawkins, The Blind Watchmaker, New York: W. W. Norton and Co., 1987.